In Too Deep
by PhoenixVenom
Summary: Sometimes, Alex wondered about the definitions of the words "rescued" and "safe" . In the world he lived in, they were really only words, and extraordinarily empty ones, at that. School, at any rate, isn't an option any more. Not with this particular new scar. Extended summary in my profile page.
1. Chapter 1

After he had been found by the military recon team, the lifeless form of the teenager had been hastily rushed off to the nearest hospital. It had been a close run thing, but despite all odds being against him, he had made it through all the extensive surgeries that had followed. The best of experts were at work, and the doctors had been able to patch him up amazingly well. His face, though, had not been salvageable. The cuts had been glued and in some places sewn together, but for the scars they would undoubtedly leave behind, there was nothing that could be done. Some of the less enthusiastic staff dealing with the patient would even go as far as to claim death would have been kinder to the poor boy than life could, now. The rest ignored them, or shot them gazes of disdain, busying themselves with _not_ looking at the partially – _mostly_ – bandaged, unmoving face, and the broken body to come with it.

Seven weeks. For seven weeks, the boy had been lying in the hospital bed, unmoving, except for when nurses came to shift his position to prevent bedsores, or one doctor or the other came in to check on him, which happened less and less often, as he was stabilized, and the possibility of a permanent coma was voiced. After all, the trauma – both physical and mental – that the boy had been put through, was more than enough to push many a grown man off the edge. Most, in fact, would probably prefer death before enduring even half of it, and the mere thought of that was chilling. Even the men who rescued him, or, at least were the ones responsible for removing him from his tormentors and leaving him in the hospital's care, could not bring themselves to more than half a dozen visits between them. In fact, all his visits together totaled seven. And even though he showed no signs of waking up, Alex Rider was far from unaware of his surroundings.

It had taken a long time to make sense of all the strange noises, especially when the incessant pain coming from seemingly everywhere was a constant distraction. At first, it was all he could manage to notice that sometimes there were people around him, and sometimes there were not. Then, when the pain would sometimes subside to a manageable throbbing, though his face never really fit into that category of "manageable" - because it _hurt_, and how could nobody notice it was burning? - and he was able to focus on what he realized by now was voices – doctors' voices, if he knew anything – and sometimes he even learned something from one of the conversations. Like the fact that his face would never be the same again (then why did they not stop it from _burning?_), and that even if he woke up again, he would most likely not walk, or even sit upright for longer periods of time for at least a few months, if not years. Sometimes, the better option seemed to be not waking up at all, although that notion did not sit well with him at _all_, and he could not for the life of him remember why. After all, it was only when he was aware of his surroundings, to some extent; seemingly on the verge of waking up without ever quite managing to, that it hurt. When all senses of the world surrounding him slipped away, so did the pain, and he always welcomed it. Even when he – immobile though he were – started to get itchy with the need to move, to wake up, to _do something!_, all he seemed to achieve was to banish the blissful unawareness for longer periods at a time, and each minute the pains and aches seemed to intensify, until he thought himself unable to take it any longer.

"… It seems he has started to wake up lately. All monitoring basically shows the same results as before, but when people are present, like now, his brain activity peaks, and he seems to make a stretch for consciousness." A short pause, followed by a soft murmur of a different voice. "Yes, yes of course this is good news. He is fighting for it himself now, so he will almost definitely wake up." If only the doctor and the mumbling voice knew that waking up was the _last_ thing Alex wanted, they might not sound so optimistic. He might unwillingly be dragging himself back to consciousness, but while he did so, and slowly started to remember, he only found himself wishing more and more for the blissful, numb blackness that he didn't know why he was fighting. Almost against his will, he found his attention drifting back towards the ongoing conversation. "… And will he have any.. Lasting damage?" the unfamiliar – familiar? – voice asked, only to have the doctor – he knew most of those by their voice by now – snort derisively, obviously finding the question preposterous. "Of course. Do you not think those wounds will even leave _scars_?" he asked, incredulous. "Oh, there will be lasting damage, all right. But whether most of it will be on his body or his soul… Well, we can't very well know that till he wakes up, now can we?" The question was very clearly not really a question, and the doctor just as clearly did not exactly hold the person he was speaking to in very high regard. Though there was some very grudging deference hidden in the heavy condescension somewhere, indicating a person of high rank, and questionable morale. A short cough was heard, then more words. "Well, apart from the scars, that we can do nothing about at the moment, there are several complicated fractures that will need a lot of time and no more movement than absolutely necessary to heal right, and I'd say right now he benefits most from staying where he is, although regarding the possibility of an eventual full recovery, we would much prefer him to be conscious, as opposed to not. In any case, the nearest year should not see him doing anything more strenuous than a short walk, if we're lucky and get him on his legs by that time. If he wakes within the nearest month, which I truly hope, any moving around he does will happen in a wheelchair if not the hospital bed, and will be restricted to the insides of the hospital." Again the other participant of the conversation spoke too softly to be heard, but the reply was clear enough. "That wasn't a suggestion. He stays here until the hospital discharges him, and that will happen no earlier than when he can walk again." After that, Alex could not keep his focus on the conversation any more, and felt like his brain had taken in more information than it could handle already. Slowly, he felt himself slip away again, and of course, by now, had learned to anticipate it, rather than fight. The pain he was fleeing from, though, did seem rather… Subdued. Duller, somehow.

Not wasting any more time on that thought, he let it slip away.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I promised myself I wouldn't do this, but it needs to be said that I have done exactly zero research on this, and that therefore at least the medical bits (which I can readily confess to having no kind of reliable knowledge on) with a grain of salt.

* * *

Being in pain was not something Alex enjoyed. So very far from it. That did not, however, keep him from feeling it; and ignoring it – even just coping – seemed harder than ever. Whereas he might have thought the pain he was in was bad earlier, the doctors had in fact had him on some pretty potent painkillers, and now that he seemed to be healing, they were shrinking the dosage gradually, to prevent the developing of a chemical addiction. Heavens knew the boy had enough going against him, without having that piled on top of it. As a side effect, they hoped the pain might help wake him up, now that he had already showed signs of stirring, and although different people harbored widely different reasons for wanting him to wake up, they all boiled down to the same goal. For his part, Alex did not care much about what other people thought of him, or thought he should do. Not right there and then, at any rate. He only cared about the pain going away, which it didn't seem to want to do any time soon, and getting more agitated at the fact, he did not notice at once that he was in fact clawing his way to consciousness. There were no other people in the room, was no sound other than the constant background noise from the monitors, which had long since faded to nothingness in his ears. He was alone.

Later that same day, a nurse - rather young, but still well disciplined - came around to the youth's room to check on him. He had been in his position for only a few weeks, but one heard talk, no matter how professional the setting, and with a case such as this, even the most closed-mouthed soul was bound to let a word or two slip. The things that must have been done to this kid were simply too horrible not to gossip about, as morbid as that may seem, but such were the inner workings of a prestigious, high-quality hospital. Or at least, that was what Leonard had experienced so far, in his internship at St. Dominic's, where Alex Rider now resided. At first, he did not notice anything out of the ordinary, but then, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a difference, something that he had not noticed when he entered the room; the boy's hands were made into tight fists, strings of tension running up his arms, and what little could be seen of his face was contorted in what looked like an expression of severe pain. Jumping slightly, when he realized he was not just seeing things, Leonard rushed to check all the monitors, and – somewhat more hesitantly – see if the boy would react to stimulation. When Alex responded to a pinch by weakly lashing out, he did not quite know whether to be glad or alarmed, but decided that in any case, this was now work for the doctors, not him, a nurse on internship.

A week later, things were much the same at St. Dominic's, with Leonard taking his turn in Alex' room, chatting to no one in particular and the room in general as per usual, uncomfortable as he was with prolonged silences. Seeing as the coma patients hardly talked, he was left with his chattering as a coping mechanism. The young teenage boy lying in the room's only bed had not shown significant progress since the episode one week earlier, despite the doctors' insistence that that had been of great importance to the youth's recovery, and although no one said so, one could feel the optimism leaving the air almost palpably. The fact he had been moving had been a largely positive surprise, true enough, but since there had been no further activity since, all reason for optimism steadily waned. However, now it seemed as though lady Luck had yet again let Alex in her good grace. Leonard, still talking to himself about what was really better; football or rugby, did not immediately notice the motion in his patient, but like he had one week ago, he eventually did notice, and like last time, he at first hesitated, unsure of what exactly to do, then took a hold of himself and proceeded to do the standard checkup, only this time he was absentmindedly talking to the youth to see if that might garner some kind of reaction. It was the only thing that he could think of that might have caused the boy's stirring; as far as he knew, he was the only one on the boy's team with that particular nervous habit, and he had moved twice on his watch, after all…

In the end, it didn't take long for Alex to groggily open his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again almost immediately against the light. Leonard, appreciating that waking up to a brightly lit room after so long was probably anything but pleasant, mindfully went and dimmed down the lights so that they were not so blinding. Smiling pleasantly, despite being a tad nervous, Leonard turned back to what turned out to now be an awake and aware patient, to ask him how he were, though the answer to that must be rather obvious to anyone with eyes. "Wh'r 'm I?" the boy croaked, his throat clearly very dry and sore from disuse. All things considered, it was actually a bit of a miracle that he was not hooked up to a respirator, as well as the multitude of other machines. Truth be told it was only the previous week that that had been disconnected. "In the hospital," Leonard answered, unaffected by the fact his own question went completely ignored, and held out a glass of water from the sink. After a moment, he realized his mistake, and gestured vaguely with the glass towards his very much bedridden patient. "Water?" When all Alex did was nod, he carefully brought the glass to his lips so that he could drink, well aware that the boy's motor skills would not be up to scratch with what he was used to. After a short while, he removed the glass and put it on the bedside table, exactly one moment before the room was invaded by half a dozen doctors, all optimistic busybodies now that there was finally definite positive evolvement, and Leonard was brushed aside and asked to leave the room only as an afterthought. The doctor addressing him actually seemed startled when he objected, but his protest ultimately went ignored, nevertheless. A little unbelievingly, Leonard eventually left the room to tend to his other duties.

Upon realizing there were only busy doctors and the occasional official ever in his room now, Alex made a point out of never staying conscious in their presence for longer than a minute at the most, preferably only seconds, faking it if he could not make himself pass out, which usually was not much of a problem. Only once in the following few weeks did he actually make a real effort in trying to stay conscious for a prolonged period of time, and even attempted to talk, and that was the one time when Leonard was back on his shift, apparently having been relocated for a short while. The mindless chattering was a welcome break from the stuffy silence constantly surrounding him, even when there were others in the room. And having someone to focus on while working on staying conscious and focused for a change was definitely a plus, and then attempting to talk made him feel significantly less silly when there was someone listening in the room. "I hope the doctors didn't pester you too much back then, when I left," Leonard half stated, half asked, with a light streak of what might be a mix of guilt and concern in his tone of voice, after having given Alex a glass of water and chatted on for a while about nothing in particular. At the same time, he had changed a few bandages – those scheduled for changing that day – and checked the healing progress of the wounds underneath. "Nah, I play the "pass out"-game with them – they get in the room, and I pass out within the minute." Alex' voice was still a bit raw, and he talked in a sort of mumble due to the bandages still covering half of his face, but overall it felt good to have someone to talk to – someone without expectations. A wry smile snuck its way onto the nurse's face, even as he gave those very bandages a worried look. He had no idea what was hidden underneath it, but whatever it was, he had a feeling it could only be very bad. "They're worried about your progress, you know. Not being able to keep you conscious at all is making them believe you might have serious brain damage." What was visible of the teenager's face was starting to look rather annoyed. "They should just do a brain scan, then. At least I dream vividly enough." If the words were meant to be a joke, the tone they were said in completely ruined it. Maybe it was because they were true, that that was why they came out in that flat, almost tired voice slightly tinged with bitterness. An unusually subtle smile pulled at one corner of the normally expressive and rather loud chatterbox of a nurse, before he replied. "Well, maybe I'll suggest it to them, then. Mind you, it might result in you having to actually acknowledge them, eventually." The combined teasing and warning was taken in and recognized, and before long, time passed on.

As was ultimately inevitable, the doctors were made aware of Alex' game and the thankfully healthy state of his mind, and brain specifically. Seeing as all his physical injuries were healing nicely, all things considering, he was made to start exercising shortly. Alex might have liked his little game, and avoidance of consciousness, but ultimately, this was a relief to him as much as anyone else, if for no other reason than that the inaction was slowly starting to drive him up the walls, figuratively. As time went on, all the bandages were removed, as well as the casts, though one of them in particular took a while. Wanting to see the bone healed completely, and correctly, Alex did not complain. Not long after his first walk (on crutches, and with support; the one leg did _not_ need the pressure, and though his arms were generally less badly off, the frowns thrown his way suggested they were not healed nearly as well as the situation called for. The sheer amount of broken bones in his body – he was glad he healed so fast), it had only taken a few days to establish that mental exercise was indeed not at all a bad, and from that Alex himself had managed to plant the idea of school work. Not that he expected to go back to that anytime soon; he had had one look in the mirror after the dressing on his face had been removed, and refused to look in the direction of any reflective surface ever since, and besides, he was painfully aware of effectively being nearly a year behind, after finding out exactly how long it had taken him to wake up at all, on top of all his previous absences. Also, there was the small detail that he was more than a little inclined to believe that his absence had finally been explained with his death. It was more than believable too, with him this time having been gone for months, instead of weeks, or even mere days, some times. In effect, his life of normalcy had ended. Fantastic.


End file.
